


away with us he's going

by imagines



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fairy AU, M/M, OtaYuri Week 2017, dj otabek, now it's a WIP, this was supposed to be a oneshot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9982085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: Yuri glances again at the crowd. Altin must have played this before, because they all seem to be doing the same dance. Perfectly in time with each other. Well, maybe he’s played itmanytimes. Mila’s been coming to this club every weekend for a couple of months now, and on the rare occasions that Altin doesn’t show, she spends the week dragging around the rink all crumpled and sad. Yuri doesn’t get what the big deal is, but at least Altin doesn’t suck like the last guy. There’s almost nobody who’s not dancing right now.(Day 7 prompt: Fantasy)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Idk man, I guess I've got two WIPs now. WHAT.

“At least pretend you’re having fun!” Mila is shouting into Yuri’s ear, since the assault on the senses this club calls “music” is currently drowning out any attempt at conversation.

“No!” he yells back. Being surrounded by other people’s sweat has never been his idea of a good time.

“I just want to hear Altin’s set, and then we can go, okay?” She kisses his cheek and darts off to the dance floor, vanishing in the roiling mass of bodies.

Yuri crams himself further into the corner booth, a semi-circle of fake leather upholstery that’s faintly sticky against his jeans. He carefully avoids wondering why. The music bangs on for a few more minutes, sounding something like a garbage compactor in a concert hall, then finally, blessedly, grinds to a halt. Someone’s talking into a microphone, announcing the next DJ, but doesn’t even make it to the name before the crowd on the floor starts chanting. _alTINalTINalTIN_ — Apparently this guy doesn’t need much of an introduction.

The lights go black. The next song begins, thumping like a heartbeat, and more people flood onto the dance floor as colored spotlights begin flashing to the rhythm. It’s not half-bad, Yuri has to admit. Altin slips something high and haunting into the mix, a woman singing, and it sounds familiar, but Yuri can’t make out the words.

He glances again at the crowd. Altin must have played this before, because they all seem to be doing the same dance. Perfectly in time with each other. Well, maybe he’s played it _many_ times. Mila’s been coming to this club every weekend for a couple of months now, and on the rare occasions that Altin doesn’t show, she spends the week dragging around the rink all crumpled and sad. Yuri doesn’t get what the big deal is, but at least Altin doesn’t _suck_ like the last guy. There’s almost nobody who’s not dancing right now.

Yuri looks around more closely. There’s _literally_ nobody who’s not dancing. He’s the only one. Altin’s switched to another song, and still the crowd moves in sync, as if the dance is a living thing inside them, but that’s a fucking ridiculous idea.

The lights are bright enough now that Yuri can see into the DJ booth, catch a glimpse of the man running this show, and—Altin’s watching him. But that can’t be right—it’s dark; he doesn’t know Altin; there’s no reason for him to stare at Yuri. He’s probably just lost in his music and just happens to be looking into the corner where Yuri’s sitting, his gaze never wavering, his mouth set in a line, unsmiling.

This is too fucking weird and Yuri’s done. He texts Mila that he’ll wait for her outside and leaves the club.

It’s a warm night, the first day of summer almost at an end, and he figures he can just have a smoke and catch up on Instagram or something. Mila had said Altin’s sets were never _that_ long, but that somehow, his crowds were always larger than anyone else’s.

And indeed it’s less than an hour before he hears the music end. Yuri checks his phone—still nothing from Mila. If she makes him go back in looking for her…

“You didn’t dance.”

Yuri whirls around. It’s Altin, eyeliner too thick, mesh shirt too thin, jeans too tight. “Did you _run_ out here to find me?”

Altin cocks his head. “Why would I run?”

“Never mind. Yeah, I didn’t dance. I don’t like clubs. What, is it like a law here that you have to dance?”

“No,” Altin says, drawing out the word between pursed lips. He still isn’t smiling. “It’s just. Unusual, is all.”

“What’s _unusual_ is _everyone_ dancing.”

Yuri doesn’t see him move, but all of a sudden Altin’s face is about three inches from Yuri’s, his eyes narrowed. “Not where I come from.”

The way Altin’s tilting his head back and forth makes Yuri think of a bird of prey getting a lock on its next meal. He barely holds back a shiver. “Back off,” he says.

Altin doesn’t move. “Come away with me.” If voice were substance, there’d be a thin silver thread running through his words, like a strand of spiderweb, leading into the dark.

It would sound enticing, if—if… Yuri frowns. “I don’t think so.”

Shock registers in Altin’s eyes. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here? This is supposed to be my territory.”

Okay, so Altin’s also super unstable. Good to know. “I do not know what the hell you are talking about.” Yuri folds his arms. “I’m here with my friend. She should be out any minute now.”

“No, she won’t,” Altin says. “You should know that. Unless— _oh_ , I get it now.”

Yuri feels like he’s swallowed iron, his stomach cold and heavy. “What do you mean?”

“For fuck’s sake. I don’t have time for this.” Altin steps back from him finally, turning away, starting to walk down the street—

Yuri lunges and grabs him by the wrist. Altin tries to shake him off, but Yuri’s got a vice grip when he wants to. “Tell me,” he says. “Tell me. _Now_.”

Altin keeps his back turned. “You ever notice that when you really, _really_ want something from someone, you always get it?”

“That’s not—” Yuri pauses, remembering. “I’m just persuasive.”

“No, you’re not. You tried to order me around in the most graceless fashion I’ve ever seen.”

“And you didn’t do what I wanted. So there goes your weird theory.”

Altin finally looks over his shoulder. “Well, it doesn’t work on me. It doesn’t work on anyone who’s like us.” He rips his wrist out of Yuri’s grasp while Yuri’s distracted. “Your friend’s been taken into the Hill, and good luck getting her back. They didn’t want you as a baby and they won’t want you now.”

Something high and haunting…a woman singing. The memory of a memory, blurred like a photocopied painting, a dim and soulless reproduction. Something hot and wet is on his cheeks.

“You don’t need to _cry_ about it. Fuck.” Altin folds his arms. “You’re happier here anyway. If I could stay out, don’t you think I would?”

“Please take me with you,” Yuri begs. “I need her.”

“Oh, for—fucking _fine_ , but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come on.”

Altin turns and stalks away, and Yuri hurries to keep pace with him. After a couple of blocks, they arrive at a huge, black motorcycle, shining in the streetlight.

Altin leans against it, and in the glare of light, Yuri can see for the first time the strange knife-edge of his cheekbones, and the ears—just a touch more pointed than they should be. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” Yuri says instantly. He’s not. At all. But Altin doesn’t need to know that.

Altin swings a leg over the motorcycle. “Get on, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> oKAY so I knew I wanted to write a fairy AU and a DJ Otabek story, and then they... merged?
> 
> I really want to know what happens next, so I'm gonna have to keep writing it. Also they refused to kiss in this bit and that's just Not On.
> 
> Stole the title from Yeats. Don't anyone tell him.
> 
> Nabbed Otabek's outfit from [yuriiiio@tumblr](https://yuriiiio.tumblr.com/post/157467628537/djotabek) who is 100% right about what he should wear, hell yeah hell yeah.


End file.
